


Let Me See

by Dordean



Series: There For You [3]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst and Feels, Ciri's POV, Epilogue, F/M, Feels, Retrospective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24187570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dordean/pseuds/Dordean
Summary: Ciri can’t recallfallingfor Cahir exactly. There was only this current drawing her to him, as gentle as it was irresistible, and the closer she got, the stronger the pull became. There was undeniably an attraction, but it grew from a place of connection, of trust, of understanding.The fact that all of this feels new speaks volumes about her past choices.***A little sequel toBroken Pieces;Ciri's retrospection on her and Cahir's path.
Relationships: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Series: There For You [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541740
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	Let Me See

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, we die like drowners. All mistakes are my own. Tagged mature purely for colorful language.
> 
> A promised wee sequel from our feisty broken girl's perspective, because I desperately need more fluff in my life. A glance of their future adventures, something I fully plan to revisit.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. <3

A sharp, high-pitched sound shakes her from her slumber, and Ciri jerks up, alert, her small hand gun already drawn.

But there’s nothing but a steady hum of the Night City around her; no enemies, human or otherwise, and her body relaxes. She lets herself sink back onto her bedding on the floor of an abandoned warehouse they chose as their shelter to wait out the night. Cahir is fast asleep beside her, and as she lies down, his arm instinctively curls around her waist.

She allows herself to wonder at that as her eyes trace his features, as familiar to her as her own, in the dim flashes of purple light coming through a small window above them. She hasn’t done much to inspire this unwavering loyalty of his, has done exactly nothing that could warrant his admiration, and yet…

And yet.

And here they are, in a world barely known to her, and completely alien to him, a world he willingly followed her into, and only because he trusted her; wanted her enough to risk...everything.

Her heart clenches painfully. Never before did anyone do such a thing for her—not without an ulterior motive, anyway.

She reaches out and touches his face. A few black curls stick to his forehead and she gently pushes them away. He looks so much younger in his sleep, almost like when she met him— _him_ , not the Black Knight—for the first time.

The tenderness bubbling inside her chest still takes her by surprise. She’s been with a number of people over the years, chasing one emotional need or another with varying levels of success—but this time, with Cahir, feels different somehow. 

Maybe it's because she can’t recall _falling_ for him exactly. There was only this current drawing her to him, as gentle as it was irresistible, and the closer she got, the stronger the pull became. There was undeniably an attraction, but it grew from a place of connection, of trust, of understanding. 

The fact that all of this feels new speaks volumes about her past choices, but Ciri decides not to dwell on it. Instead, she shuffles a little closer, careful not to wake Cahir, and lets her hand rest lightly on his chest, over his heart.

She did try to deny her own feelings. They were slow to grow, like buds after a long, dark winter, which made them easier to ignore, to pretend this whole thing was just a simple indulgence. But she couldn’t ignore the way Cahir looked at her. It was intoxicating, addictive to see herself through his eyes. The image was distorted, it wasn't real, and yet she wished—by gods she _wished_ she deserved all that adoration. 

But Cahir's devotion wasn't shallow, and it wasn't demanding. Not once throughout all that time they shared did he push her. Not once did he ask for more than she was comfortable giving. Not once did he make her feel _not enough_. On the contrary: it was nothing but a wide-eyed wonder with which Cahir welcomed the change in their relationship, never quite believing her affection was not feigned. 

And even then Ciri knew he expected nothing from her, and that she was free to leave if she chose to—which, for the first time in her life, made her want to stay.

Her encounter with the Weavess made it abundantly clear that staying was not an option, though. There would have been no cosy home with a roaring fire waiting for her at the end of a day; no family of her own to come back to, no quiet haven in the stormy world.

A shiver runs through her. The desolate, lonely path she was shown still haunts her dreams, a shadow of the Crone's vision lingering like a wraith at the edges of her mind. It felt...real, a logical consequence of all her past choices, which made it all the more distressing. And so she tried to push Cahir away, to free him of this ridiculous devotion that had brought him nothing but suffering, and that could never have given him what he yearned for.

But even after she stomped all over his heart in a failed attempt to protect him from herself, he still went and nearly gave his life for her. Again.

Her breath catches in her throat at the memory of his lifeless body in her arms. His blood dripping down her hands to pool at her feet is the last clear image she has of that fateful day. Everything else is a blur: the void, the temple; Nenneke calling for help, Yennefer shouting one spell after another. The sorceress holding her, trying to keep her from following Nenneke as the priestesses carried Cahir away, trying to talk any sense into her—but Ciri could register nothing through the haze of the overwhelming, shrieking fear. 

It was only in that moment that she realised the safe haven she longed for didn't need to be _a place._ That she had, in fact, already found it—that she was losing it.

Cahir stirs, and she can't help gently running her fingers along the lines on his face. He would wake up soon—here, with her, in this strange, dangerous, fascinating world. 

Because even after all the suffering she caused him, he chose _her_ ; he wanted her more than the life he dreamt of for himself.

Ciri still can't quite reconcile that part. 

The noise outside repeats, and Cahir is blinking awake; she watches him registering his surroundings as his fingers curl around her waist.

“Hi,” she whispers with a smile.

“Hi back,” Cahir quips, his voice still heavy with sleep, but his mind alert enough now to share their tender joke. “What’s the time?” 

“Too early.” Ciri presses a kiss to his forehead. “We can’t move before midday. Go back to sleep.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “My queen's wish is my command.”

She smacks him lightly on the shoulder; something of a routine now, another shared joke rather than a sign of irritation. In this world, the words carry no meaning other than affection—besides, she already bit his head off once for not acknowledging the real her, and inadvertently broke her own heart in the process. She has no desire to repeat that particular experience. 

Cahir continues to watch her, his eyes now clear and focused. "Eddie for your thoughts?"

Ciri can't help a smile. He took to learning the rules of this strange world like a duck to water, his mind hungry for stimulation after the idle years he spent in hiding. He's already better at navigating the social fabric of the Night City than she ever was; more and more he takes on the negotiations with various fractions, be it for jobs or passage, all his experience in the imperial intelligence allowing him to figure out instantly whom to sweeten, whom to bribe, and whom to threaten—or just plain shoot.

Ciri has never expected him to become such a valuable _partner_ in all of this. It's quite a novelty—to underestimate someone.

The experience is altogether new to her: to be able to rely on someone fully, to lean on them when her own strength is waning, and trust that they'd step in, that they'd support her, unwaveringly, unconditionally. 

Cahir hasn't failed her once.

But all those words are for another time, Ciri decides, as Cahir is looking up at her, his brows furrowed with worry. She gently strokes her thumb along his cheek. "I love you."

His eyes light up and his smile is like hundred suns, its warmth enveloping her so thoroughly it cuts to the darkest, the most shameful corners of her being and floods them with lightness and hope. It is in those moments, basking in his love for her, that Ciri can see a glimpse of a different, brighter, happy future.

She kisses the tip of his nose; Cahir cards his fingers through her hair in a tender caress.

"Every time I wake up beside you I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming,” he whispers, and Ciri shakes her head with fond exasperation.

“How has this not become mundane by now?”

Cahir traces her scar with his finger. “Mundane?” he repeats with a crooked smile as his hand slips to her waist. He flips her onto her back and leans over her; there is a gleam in his eyes that makes her breath quicken. “The part where we shoot our way out of an ambush by half-machines, half-humans that a year ago I wouldn’t have believed could exist, or the part where you fuck me senseless on the floor of this very warehouse immediately afterwards?”

Ciri can’t help laughing at this rather accurate description of the events. Cahir places a trail of small kisses along her jaw. 

“Anything but mundane, my love,” he whispers before capturing her lips.

But Ciri breaks the kiss and searches his gaze. “Still no regrets?”

Cahir’s grip on her waist tightens. 

“Never.” 

There is the same heat in his voice that is burning in his eyes, those eyes the colour of a summer sky, and Ciri kisses him again, and pulls him closer, her blood singing with joy and desire; they’re here, they’re _together_. Right at this moment, nothing else matters.

Cahir's fingers and lips are burning on her skin, finding all the new ways to reassure her of his care, and her senses are on fire as her world dissolves under his touch, leaving only _them_ , and they're one again, like they were always meant to be, through all the time and space. A muffled scream tears free—hers, his, she cannot say—and she’s falling, falling, but he catches her, and holds her, and she knows, she _knows_ that he will, that he always will.

Cahir whispers her name, over and over, like a prayer to some long-forgotten deity, his voice full of love and reverence, and it is in those soft, quiet moments that Ciri allows herself to believe, to hope—to dream.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Comments and kudos sustain the writer's soul.
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/andordean) and I'm always delighted to scream about Ciri to anyone who wants to listen (or not).


End file.
